


Bubbly & Berries

by besmirchedmaiden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Co-workers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Food Kink, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besmirchedmaiden/pseuds/besmirchedmaiden
Summary: “You know how, like, you’re a girl?” Harry pointed out, and Hermione had a further reminder of how truly dimwitted her friends were.“That realisation comes to me often, yes.” Hermione let out a hiss as she understood what they were implying. “You want topimpme out?”When her best friends, Harry and Ron, come to her for a favour. Hermione finds herself entangled in their ludicrous plan.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Minor Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 18
Kudos: 433





	Bubbly & Berries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetestsorrows (katschako)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katschako/gifts).



> i wanted to write a pwp gift fic, for like the sweetest and most talented person on earth, [ sweetestsorrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katschako/pseuds/sweetestsorrows) and ended up writing 6k words so now it has some plot. 
> 
> anyway, thank you for all your help becks, you make my writing shine! i hope you enjoy this 💕
> 
> thank you to [ WhatSoMalfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatSoMalfoy/profile) for betaing this lightening quick and spotting all the mistakes!

“Hermione, we need your help.”

Swallowing her bite, she heaved a sigh and looked up from her parchment. Her two best friends had dragged two chairs to her table, and sat in them, effectively flanking her. This was not about to be a peaceful lunch.

“What now?” She muttered, pushing her lunch tray away.

“We need to, uh, _procure_ ,” Harry glanced around before continuing to speak quietly, “something from a secure location.”

“So do you want a casket or would you like ashes?”

“Huh?”

“For the burial, when both of you inevitably end up killing yourselves.”

“No, Hermione. I swear, it’s not dangerous at all. It’s just we need your _expertise_ ,” Ron said emphasising the last word, looking at Harry who nodded in confirmation.

“Oh no, absolutely not. You will not get me involved in this. We’re too old for this — whatever this stupidity it is the both of you are up too.”

“But you haven’t heard of our plan yet.”

“I don’t need to hear it to know it’s going to be foolish and not to mention incredibly dangerous.”

“Don’t you always say that ‘i _t’s not good to have a closed mind_ ’?” countered Harry, matching her tone of haughtiness.

“Fine,” Hermione harrumphed. Cornered by her own words, she waved her table knife in their direction. “Enlighten me. Why do you need my help, if you have the perfect plan?”

“Because we couldn’t do it by ourselves,” Ron explained as if the matter was obvious.

“Go on.”

“You know how Pansy and I have been dating? We’ve gotten serious, and I’m thinking of proposing to her.”

“That’s great, Ronald,” she snarked, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“Well, I’m arranging to have her parents come to our place, to offer the Betrothal Contract. But hey, here’s the funny thing. You’ll have a great laugh at this. But I uh - accidentally told her father that _I_ won the Auror of the year award.”

“WHAT?” Hermione yelled, before being hushed by Ron. “Why would you do that? Do I need to remind you that you dropped out of the Auror programme?”

“Yes, I know that,” he insisted, “but her father doesn’t like me at all. When we first met, I mentioned I was in the Auror training and he seemed to find some modicum of respect for me. So I might have led him to believe that I was still there every time he asked about it.”

“Ron…”

“I know it’s bad. Last year at Christmas, he asked me how the job was going and I might have told him I was up for the award. Then he asked about it again a few months ago... I might have said I won the award.”

“But you didn’t!” She accused, wagging her finger at him.

“Yes, well _I_ know that, ‘Mione,” Ron pleaded, “but he doesn’t.”

“So what do you need me to do about it?”

“Well, we were hoping you would convince the winner to let me borrow it for like a day.”

“But the winner this year was... Malfoy.” A horrified look dawned on Hermione’s features. “No, no, no. I’m not asking that prat for a favour. Ron, no! What are you thinking? I can barely get through a conversation without him gloating at me.”

“Well, actually, Harry and I were thinking. He’s throwing a party, you could uh - distract him? And then we could steal the award.”

“How exactly would I distract him?”

“You know how, like, you’re a girl?” Harry pointed out, and Hermione had a further reminder of how truly dimwitted her friends were.

“That realisation comes to me often, yes.” Hermione let out a hiss as she understood what they were implying. “You want to _pimp_ me out?”

“No! Gods, no. Hermione,” Harry burst out, shaking his head vigorously.

“Then _exactly_ what do you need me to do, Harry?” She asked sharply.

Harry looked towards Ron for an answer who shrugged back at him. 

“We just need to make sure you keep a lookout, keep him busy. Listen it’s not what I think but Pansy said a girl would be better, and you’re a girl we know.”

“Throwing your girlfriend under the bus. Nice, Ronald. Wait,” she paused, cocking her head, “Why didn’t you ask Pansy to do the task? They’re exes. She knows him best.”

“As if she’s going to that slimy snake’s den,” he spat out immediately.

“Nice, Ronald. Good to know I’m expendable.” She stood up to leave. “Well, boys. It was a nice lunch.”

“No wait, Hermione.” Ron tugged at the cuff of her sleeve, “Please. It’s not like that.”

“Yeah, not like that,” repeated Harry in tandem.

She allowed herself to be seated and raised an eyebrow signalling they should continue.

“It’s because you’re so clever, and smart,” Ron gesticulated, “and you’ll know how to fool the prat.”

“Ah, flattery will only go so far guys. It’s still a no from me.”

“Fine,” replied Ron firmly, “I’m invoking my McLaggen favour.”

The McLaggen favour was one Hermione owed Ron, no questions asked. After Cormac McLaggen wouldn’t stop harassing Hermione in school, Ron had punched him right in the face. Ron broke his hand and got thoroughly hexed in the process. Despite Ron’s failed attack, it did work — McLaggen never bothered her again. Hermione had been so overwhelmed with gratitude when Ron was in the infirmary and promised him she’d do anything to make it up to him.

“You know you only have one of those. And you want to use it for _this_?”

“Yeah, I do. I _love_ her Hermione,” he emphasised with sincerity, “I’ll _die_ if I don’t marry her.”

“Steady on, Romeo,” she groused. Damn Ron for playing her hand and sympathy. “How are we even going to do this? I’m not invited to the party. He hates me, he’ll boot me out the moment I step through the door. Did you two think about that?”

“Oh yeah, we were thinking we could use Polyjuice to— ”

“Absolutely not!” She slammed her hand on the table, “Who will I go as, Ron? That’s another person you’re bringing in your plan. What if I start reversing in the middle of distracting him? What then?”

“Uh…”

“Yeah, that's what I thought. I’m going back to work, boys.” She cleared her plate away with a wave of her wand. “And Ron for Heaven’s sake, just tell your future father-in-law the truth.”

* * *

Hermione approached her office grumpily. Honestly what in the world were her best friends thinking? She had never even had a normal conversation with Malfoy and now she was supposed to distract him whilst they stole from his house? Nonsense.

It was true that they worked together a lot, but it was purely coincidental that she was his assigned researcher on most of his cases.

She didn’t deny that working with him could be fun— even stimulating, one could say. He was whip-smart and inquisitive, he knew where to poke to find answers. But the problem was that he was _such a_ _pompous prat_ , which only served to rile her up — and suddenly before she knew it they were arguing away like children, both too stubborn to admit either was wrong.

A never-ending cycle.

“Granger, you know you’re meant to enter _through_ the door,” a sharp voice broke her from her reminiscing. She looked up to find the man of her thoughts smirking at her. “Why are you glaring holes into it?”

“I’m not glaring holes,” she snapped, “I was just about to enter.”

“You’ve been staring at the poor thing for an hour, Granger,” he remarked, casually leaning on the wall next to the door.

“I have not. How could I possibly be staring at this door for an hour? Malfoy I— ” She caught herself, she was decidedly _not_ about to fall into his trap once more. “Shouldn’t you be busy planning your big bash instead of bothering me?”

“Oh Granger, that was planned out months ago. It’s going to be spectacular,” he boasted, puffing his shoulders. “It’s not every day a man turns twenty-five. I have had hundreds of owls begging for invites from around the world. Mother said it’s been difficult to curate the list.”

“Sounds incredibly tortuous,” She said rather snidely, “partying with the wealthy, and I suppose, entertaining the eligible debutantes you’ve no doubt invited.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his eyes twinkling, “I made sure to invite all the beautiful, single women from around the world.”

Hermione felt her stomach drop. “I’m sure you have.” She swallowed thickly before stepping inside her office. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He followed her in.

“Can I help you, Malfoy?” She grumbled as she took a seat at her desk.

She double-checked her schedule, as he sidled into the chair opposite her. They weren’t meant to be having a meeting.

“This chair is ungodly, why don’t you get some decent furniture in here?” He complained petulantly, as he fidgeted in his seat. “Something akin to the _Soland_ chairs I have in my office.”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I’m not buying chairs that are double my yearly salary. Nor will my department pay for that,” Hermione announced, slightly irritated. “Now how can I help you?”

“Oh, yes. I came to ask you about the Mayzr files,” he explained, leaning towards her.

“Oh, yes!” She exclaimed, pulling out a folder from her top drawer, before sliding it towards him. “I have been meaning to talk to you about that. There are two upcoming available dates. You can visit the reserve and speak with the groundskeeper. The first is this Saturday, and the next one is a few weeks later on the fourteenth. Now I was thinking of confirming the fourteenth. You have your party this Friday, I wouldn’t want to drag you from it so early.”

“You should come too,” he blurted out, his hands had slipped into his pockets.

“Umm- Malfoy, as kind as that offer is,” she responded confused. “I don’t think I have jurisdiction.”

“No, I mean my party. You should come along,” he said as if it was obvious what he was implying.

“Really? You’d want a _commoner_ like me there?“ She joked half-heartedly. “It’d only mess up your hot and wealthy ratio.”

“It really wouldn’t, it’s a big party,” he smirked.

“Thanks, Malfoy.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, the fourteenth?”

“Sure,” he agreed, opening the folder she had handed to him.

* * *

Despite her objections to the plan, Harry and Ron managed to persuade her otherwise, and she found herself getting ready in Ron's flat before the party.

A few hours before the event, Pansy taught Hermione every trick in the pure-blood heiress guide about tricking a pureblood heir— or general witch facts that she felt Hermione should know. Hermione had protested initially, but like with everything had soaked in the knowledge.

Then came the beautification. Hermione was slotted into a black, midi Bardot dress with a ruffled front. Pansy convinced her to use glamour spells— ones that made her legs longer, smoothed her skin out, reshaped her facial features, tamed her hair, and made her look delicate.

Hermione couldn’t look away from the mirror. A part of her was delighted that she looked like a supermodel, another having out of body experience at the thought of her being moulded into something she was not.

She didn’t have much time to ponder the implications of the changes, as she was pushed into the Apparition point with the others, landing directly in front of the opulent gates of Malfoy’s house.

She trundled up the path, following them on the uneven cobblestones that led to his house and reached the double doors to the entrance.

She wasn’t sure what she expected when she walked in, but it wasn’t the sight that greeted her. It was extravagant and intimate all at once, filled to the brim with people. Balloon lanterns hung from the ceiling and yet still managed to set a moody setting. An array of flowers covered every inch of the walls. There was a large bar where a hoard of pixies were performing tricks, and house-elves served the guests in the crowd.

“Hello, Potter. Weasley, Pans,” Draco greeted, nodding them in one by one into the room. Before focusing his sight on Hermione entirely, taking a moment to appraise her from top to bottom. The heat of his stare raised goosebumps on her arms. “Glad to see you decided to join us, Granger,” he crooned.

“Hi, Malfoy,” she greeted awkwardly, unsure what to do. She raised her hand to shake.

He smirked and reached for her hand before bowing deep and pressing a long kiss upon it.

Hermione blushed, hastily retracting it from his grasp. Her skin was tingling.

“Now if you will excuse me,” he said, standing straight. “I have to greet other guests.”

They stepped further into the grand hall, mingling between the crowd and dancers. Pansy was dragged in a group of cheerful, old family friends.

“Ron, Harry—go now,” she urged, pointing towards the rooms beyond the hall, “he’s distracted now. I’ll keep a lookout.”

They nodded and dashed away. She mingled a bit with the guests, hoping she could build some good contacts. Draco knew some powerful people, and as watched him greet his guests, she saw his knack for socialisation — something she never could quite figure out. He was quick-witted, and always managed to place the other person at ease. Well, except for her. They always ended up in the worst arguments because he wouldn’t stop provoking her.

When she felt exhausted with all the social interaction and realised she wasn’t getting anywhere, she made her way towards the bar, making sure to keep Draco in the line of her sight. He had cleaned up well today. He looked fit in his Wizarding tuxedo, the cut only highlighted his lean but muscular figure.

Not that she had expected any less. Draco was always proper, even at work. Not a hair out of place, his clothes always pressed and expensive.

She swallowed down the weird feeling with her drink as she watched him flirt with a particularly beautiful woman. He looked up mid-laugh and met her stare, before facing his guest again.

She blushed and turned away. He’d think she was checking him out. She glanced down at her drink when someone approached her.

“I’ve been told a gorgeous witch shouldn't sit and drink by herself,” a voice spoke next to her.

She looked up to see a portly and balding man leering at her.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Hermione replied sharply, hoping he’d get the hint and leave.

He didn’t, instead, he came closer, and she could smell the whisky on his breath. His greasy palms encircling her torso. She found herself cringing at the touch.

Before she could retrieve her wand from her dress pockets, he was hauled away, and she turned to find Draco Malfoy shaking his hand vigorously.

“Mr Griffths,” he exclaimed before dragging him away in a different direction, “it’s been so long, let me show…”

Hermione let out a deep breath, and took a larger swig of her drink, as she watched Malfoy take him to the entrance of the Floo, speaking jovially as he did.

She let out a small shriek when someone loomed over her, once more.

“Hermione, it’s me!” Ron cried in surprise, hoping to ease her panic.

“Yes, yes,” she replied, her hand on her chest as she tried to slow her beating heart. “Did you get the award?”

“Uh— so about that, so we couldn’t get into the halls. Apparently, it’s warded, so we need someone from the Malfoy bloodline to take us in. And well, Harry got a little distracted with Theo and left. And Pansy, well she’s tired and she wants me to take her home. You know how she gets when— ”

“Ron,” she interrupted, hoping to bring him to the point.

“Hermione, please, can you get the award?”

“Ron, no! You said lookout and distract him. Your favour did not stipulate anything else.”

“You know, Hermione… I was in that infirmary for an awfully long time. Madam Pomfrey said I was lucky to have kept my sight…”

“Fine,” she gritted out.

“Thanks, Hermione,” he cheered, hugging her quickly before linking arms with Pansy and taking her to the Apparition point.

Hermione held her head in her hands. She had no idea how she could complete this impossible task. Draco hadn’t even looked at her twice today. She had come in on a pity invite and now she was supposed to break into his warded house?

Taking one final sip of her drink, she gathered all her bravery and approached the double door at the end of the large hall. She pulled at it, but it didn't budge. She traced the door wondering if she could feel the energy of the ward, hoping it’d clue her in on its magic.

“You know, the exit is the other way,” a poncy voice mentioned. Hermione glanced up to see Draco Malfoy standing next to her, staring at her curiously.

“Did you want me to leave already?” She questioned, widening her eyes, pinching her eyebrows in, a small pout placed on her lips. Just as she had practised with Pansy.

“No,” he blurted out quickly, “no. Never.”

“You know many gracious hosts,” she hummed, a crazy plan forming in her mind, “would give guests a tour of their house. Especially ones who have never visited.”

Draco agreed to the tour instantaneously, and Hermione wondered if it was because he felt he had offended her.

He took her through winding stairs and long corridors. Into various reception rooms, halls, and suites. She glanced at every nook and cranny trying to spot the award. She might have dithered a second too long in the spectacular library of his, and even he was surprised when she decided to call it a day in the place.

Until they reached the final reception room on the fourth floor, a room just as grand as the others. With wood panelling on the ceiling and walls, two big bay windows streamed moonlight in from the outside. In the corner sat a black, baby grand piano, with an opulent chaise lounge next to it. And along the opposite wall were all his awards behind a glass cabinet. She silently prayed that the cabinet wasn’t warded.

Giving the shelving a quick glance, she spotted the Auror of the year, in the right-hand corner, at the very top. With her newfound height, she was sure she could reach it.

Instead, she approached the piano slowly. Trailing her finger over the cover, she had time to get the award— after she figured out why Malfoy owned a piano.

“Is this a Muggle piano?” She asked, glancing up to see him still leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed.

“It might be,” he smirked.

“I wouldn’t expect you to have this instrument.”

“Well, I’m beginning to see how great certain Muggle inventions can be.” She felt a swoop in her stomach.

“Would you mind?”

“Of course not,” he responded, coming to sit on the stool next to her. He pulled open the lid and gestured for her to play.

She started the melody to Für Elise, focusing solely on the keys instead of the warmth of his stare and his leg so close to hers.

“It’s a really good piano,” she beamed, as she stopped halfway through the first movement, realising she was overstaying her welcome. “Thank you for letting me play it.”

“You’re welcome to it any time, Granger. You play so well. You should teach me.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” she laughed, “first place your finger on A minor there, and rest your other fingers...”

She continued to guide him through the opening melody but he still managed to clang down on the keys. She covered her hand with his, as she taught him the opening lines. Suddenly he stopped, and she found herself holding his hand.

He tilted his face closer to hers, their lips a breath apart. Alarm bells rang in her head.

“Would you look at the time? I’ve kept you for too long!” She exclaimed, scooting to the edge of the stool. “You must go back to your party, I’m so sorry to have kept you.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “I was really enjoying our time here.”

“What about all the beautiful girls you invited?” She jumped up, placing distance between them. “They must be missing you. You're the man of the hour.”

“The only beautiful girl I want is here in this room.”

Butterflies in her stomach fluttered at the compliment until she realised he was looking at the glamoured version of her— the one with the longer legs and tame hair, smaller features with her freckles smoothed away.

“You’re only saying that because I’m glamoured,” Hermione laughed brushing off his words. She perched herself delicately on the arm of the chaise lounge. “If I looked the way I do normally, you’d probably not give me a second glance.”

“I am not saying it because of the glamour,” he replied simply like it was obvious. “In fact, I much prefer you _without_ the glamour.”

“Yeah right,” she rolled her eyes. He hadn’t ever spared her a second glance. “That’s why I got a last minute invite.”

He joined her sitting right next to her on the sofa. “Yours was the first invite I wrote. I was far too chicken to mail out to you. You’re the only person I want to spend my birthday with.”

“Before you go on confessing your long lost crush on me— which, I clearly may add, is due to the effects of the alcohol— give me a second.” She pulled her wand to remove the changes on her body settling herself back to normal. “See now, just frumpy old Granger.”

He shook his head. “You’re still beautiful. Granger, I have been wanting this chance alone with you for so long. Why do you think you always end up as my assigned intelligence researcher?”

“Oh,” she whispered, understanding his intention as his face inched closer to hers. She had to distract him. She was here on a mission, after all. And this Draco was messing with her head, it didn’t align with her vision of him at all. Maybe he was Polyjuiced. “But we always argue.”

“Yes, that’s because you’re stubborn and wrong.”

“I’m wrong? You’re the one that considered Hoo-hoo eggs to have water-vapour properties. Malfoy you really telling me, you considered the idea of -”

She stilled, clamping her mouth shut. “I’m sorry, it’s your birthday. I shouldn’t have spoken like that to you.”

“No it’s alright, Granger,” he said looking quite like a cat who got the cream. “I do enjoy our repartee.”

“I still think you should go downstairs and celebrate with your guests. I saw the cake, Malfoy. It was impressive. I would hate for you to miss it.”

“Tinker,” he yelled, turning his face away from her.

A small, clothed elf with wide eyes popped in. “Yes, Mr Malfoy?”

“Please fix the table.”

The elf nodded, and snapped his fingers, filling the oak wood coffee table with an assortment of treats— including a few tiers of the cake Hermione mentioned, as well a large bucket filled to the brim with champagne bottles.

“Thank you,” he said to the elf who bowed before disappearing.

“Guess, I have no need to go downstairs.”

“Draco…” she gasped, shocked at the display. “This is ridiculous.”

“Then indulge me,” he implored, uncorking a bottle of champagne, and poured the drink in two glasses. “It _is_ , after all, my birthday. And as far as I recall, you haven’t given me any presents.”

“Fine, seeing as you drive a hard bargain,” she accepted, hoping after a while he’d eventually get bored and leave. “What is you’d like me to gift you?”

His eyes flashed and she took a sip of the bubbly, it seemed like everyone was out to emotionally blackmail her today.

“I haven’t decided yet,” he replied rather devilishly. “But I would like you to join me in celebrating my birthday.”

“You haven’t made a wish,” she exclaimed as he went to cut the cake. She brushed his hand aside and charmed some lit birthday candles on top of it. He groused a little about it being a terrible tradition but decided to close his eyes, before leaning forward to blow out the flames.

“Take the first bite.” He cut a small section of cake and used his fingers to proffer it to her lips, his grey eyes darkening when she swallowed the bite whole from his fingers.

“It’s really good,” she announced, breaking the tense silence that descended upon them.

“Should I tell you my birthday wish, Granger?” he murmured, pushing her hair back.

“No,” she cried hastily, “or it won’t come true.”

“Fine,” he accepted, “but I have decided what I want for my birthday gift.”

“And what is that?”

“I want you to feed me,” he replied smugly.

“Malfoy, you’re not a child!” She asserted. “You’re fully capable of feeding yourself.”

“Yes, well. I’m a spoiled child, and it’s my birthday. I have a gorgeous witch here who could feed me and, _might I add_ , owes me a gift.”

She rolled her eyes, plucking out a juicy, red strawberry from the bowl, making sure to remove the green stem before placing it on his lips. He opened his mouth, taking a bite, his tongue caressing her fingers. She felt herself freeze, as he took another, his eyes not leaving hers, before he sucked in her fingers, making sure to lick every single drop.

Hermione felt herself growing wet and realised she had to figure out a way to get the damn award and leave this crazy alternate universe she had entered. Her resolve a brittle twig.

Maybe she could get him drunk enough to fall asleep.

After unlacing his bow-tie, ignoring the curious expression on his face, she picked up the champagne bottle he had uncorked and brought it to his mouth. His eyes widened slightly but he opened his mouth, allowing her to pour in the drink, watching his throat bob as he swallowed. It was an unnervingly erotic sight.

She wanted to keep doing it.

He grinned at her wickedly, as he managed to tug her on his lap.

“Keep going,” he whispered, enclosing his arms around her torso. She couldn’t find it in herself to protest. Instead, she brought the top cream layer of the cake, smearing it on her fingers before offering it to him, not daring to look away as he took her fingers in his mouth again. When he was done, he grabbed the bottle of champagne and tipped it down her throat.

With the bottle empty, he brushed her wild hair back, before tangling his fingers in it, and shifted his head towards her. “I really want to kiss you. May I kiss you?” He whispered, pressing his nose against hers.

Hermione nodded, a small repressed part of her brain delighted. She had secretly desired this moment for years. Just before his lips touched hers, a worry of going too far flitted through her mind, gone in the next moment as she gave herself into the kiss entirely, wrapping her arm around his sturdy shoulders. Before she knew it, she found herself lying back on the sofa, Draco hovering over her body.

He removed his tuxedo jacket, and she found herself helping him unbutton his shirt, wanting to touch the hard skin underneath. Hermione trailed her fingers over the newly unveiled body, getting stuck in the hard ridges of his abs. She counted eight and found herself thanking the Auror programme training, before continuing to dawdle at the hint of the V lines.

“Gods,” he breathed as he trailed hot kisses and licks along the column of her throat. “You taste sweeter than those strawberries.”

She swallowed her comeback about the cheesy nature of his comment. The sensation of his lips and the alcohol were making her brain fuzzy. She couldn’t think straight as his sinful mouth found the expanse of her chest, her hands gripping tightly onto his silky, blonde hair.

He stopped his ministrations for a second as his other hand reached for a strawberry on the table. He pressed the fruit to her mouth, and she took a bite, her eyes never leaving his.

He pressed the half-eaten fruit on her chest just above the swell of her breasts, gliding the juices over her skin. He licked and sucked at the spot, making sure to thoroughly clean every drop. She ground against him, wetness pooling in her lower body, and pulled his head closer.

Draco pulled the straps of her dress further down, revealing her entire chest. Hermione felt her nipples tighten as he blindly grasped for another strawberry, unable to look away from her. He pressed it into her mouth again, before tracing patterns with it across her breasts. This time his mouth _devoured_ her skin, sucking and biting down lightly.

“You’re so fucking sweet, Granger,” he groaned, as he rolled her dress down further her body, slipping it over her heels, before carelessly discarding it.

“It’s… it’s the... strawberries,” she gasped, as he kissed a path down her abdomen, her stomach tightening at the feeling. His fingers grazed lightly over her drenched knickers, causing her to twitch against him.

He shook his head. “No, it’s not.’

He rose to taste the remnants of strawberry on her lips before he began to kiss her again, his tongue dancing with hers.

“Open your mouth, Granger,” he murmured, breaking free. She automatically acquiesced to his request. He uncorked another bottle of champagne, taking a swig before he dropped a large sip down her throat. Waiting for her to swallow, before claiming her mouth again. He dragged the cold bottle along her overheated skin, making her moan in his mouth.

“Malfoy,” she begged, rubbing her legs against him causing his erection to press into her.

He ignored her, and instead poured the drink down her body. His eyes widened at the image before he blinked and began to suck over the same trail the alcohol had dripped down her body.

Hermione felt heady, her breaths coming out in pants when he reached her panties and continued to lap at her core.

“Please, please,” she urged him, forgetting her mission entirely.

He gripped the elastic band of her lace underwear and tugged it down her legs before throwing it away like he did her dress.

Hermione flushed at being entirely exposed in front of him, she had to let this go too far. She was meant to be stealing an award for heaven’s sake, and here she was doing filthy things with her annoying co-worker.

Before she could change her mind, he stroked his fingers over the entrance of her pussy, watching her reaction, before dipping his index finger in her folds. Hermione found herself moaning.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he mumbled, pumping gently before adding another finger and curving them gently inside her. He continued to curl his fingers inside her, his tongue flicking over her clit, as she tightened her legs around him.

She let out a whine when he removed his fingers, but became enraptured by his blazing grey eyes as she watched him suck his digits clean.

“I was right,” he declared proudly, “you’re sweeter than the strawberries. I can’t wait to taste all of you. ”

She dripped at his words, before raising an eyebrow. “What are waiting for, Malfoy?”

He smirked, taking her words as a challenge and dove between her legs. His tongue licking and sucking. Worshipping her cunt. She felt her hips undulate as he brought her to the edge, screaming as she tipped over, seeing black.

She was still panting, gripping tightly on the arm of the chaise, when he climbed back over her body, taking her mouth into his again. She could taste herself, she could taste them, all tangy and sweet. A mixture of sweat, strawberries and champagne all at once. She never wanted to leave this moment.

“I want to be inside you,” Draco breathed, as they ground themselves into each other, his clothed cock pressing at her sensitive centre.

“I need you inside me,” she responded with equal fervency.

She helped him yank down his trousers, sitting up when he stood to remove them entirely. Hermione traced her nail over his boxers, around his bulging centre, enjoying his hisses at the sensation. She leaned in closer to tongue the large outline—but he pulled back.

“Next time,” he croaked. Draco pushed her back down on the chaise, dropping his boxers entirely before joining her.

He pulled her in, kissing her softly, brushing her waywardly curls back. “I have wanted to be with you for so long, I’ll go slow,” he whispered against her neck, as he positioned his cock in her soaking folds. “Fuck, Merlin have mercy, you’re so tight, Granger.”

“Hermione,” She instructed as she stretched to fit his thickness, arching her back against the chaise.

“Hermione,” he repeated, sticking to his promise, he set a gentle thrusting rhythm. But she wanted more of him. She grabbed on to shoulders, tugging him closer, as he slowed to fill her entirely, she felt impossibly full.

“Go harder, Draco,” she mewled, digging her nails into his back. “I want more.”

He snapped his hips faster, his cock pounding into her, snarling dirty things into her ears. “You have the best pussy, Hermione, the way you’re taking my cock, begging for all of it. I am going to fuck you so hard, that you’ll beg for this cock only. I’ll mark that tight cunt of yours as _mine_.”

She moaned, and that only further served to spur him on and his thrusts became punishing.

“Look at what you do to me, Hermione,” he growled, “you drive me crazy, make me lose my mind. I said I’d go slow. I was going to worship you and now all I want to do is fuck you so hard that you’re ruined for any other man. Whose are you, Hermione?”

“Yo- Yours,” she stuttered, arching her body towards him, as he slowed his movement to a languorous pace. Pleased, he resumed his previous pace. “Draco, ple- please. I’m… oh— yours.”

He pulled her hands above her head, clasping them tightly with his left, whilst his right slid down her body towards her throbbing clit, rubbing quickly.

“Mine,” he growled in her ear.

She felt herself clench, before she fell over the edge for the second time that evening, seeing black once more. He wasn’t far behind, growling as he toppled over her, her cunt milking every single drop he spilt inside her.

She hissed as he pulled out of her. Both of them trying to catch their breaths, her hands slipping out of his grasp.

As she came down from her high, the reality of the situation came rushing back, and she found herself growing cold. He seemed to notice as he waved a cleaning charm over them before he pulled her chin up.

“Don’t start regretting us already, Hermione,” he pleaded, stroking her lips with his long, talented fingers.

“I— I wasn’t meant to do this,” she whispered hoarsely, moving to sit up, breaking the bubble they two were cosied in.

“I’m not letting you back out now,” he grunted, pushing her back towards him, “Weasley wanted the fucking award, right? I’ll owl it to him first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You knew about the plan?” She asked, surprised.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s his third attempt, I’m just surprised he dragged you into it. I thought you were smarter. Also, the fact you wanted to stay in this room, instead of my library. You’re incredibly obvious.”

“I am smarter,” she huffed, slapping his bare chest. “He invoked his favour, and I have to keep my word.”

“Great,” he smirked, holding on to her hand bringing it up to his lips, “keep your word, after all, you _just_ promised yourself to me.”

“I suppose I did.” She blushed deeply, remembering his filthy talk.

“I’m glad you didn’t book the trip for tomorrow,” he whispered in her ear, his hardening cock pressing against her centre again. “I’m going to spend my whole weekend enjoying my birthday present.”


End file.
